


Painting Life

by Rena



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rena/pseuds/Rena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, when they were younger, Itachi and Shisui would paint the world, their lives, in their favourite colours. A love story in fragments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painting Life

A meeting. A beginning:

Small, bare feet scurrying over fresh green grass; childish laughter, the sound as clear as bells ringing, reverberating through the air and colouring the sky a light, luminous blue. Black hair waving in the wind, tousled by it, as they race down to the river. A small hand on another, Itachi's head on Shisui's shoulder as they watch the sun glisten on the surface of the dark water until the sun is swallowed by the shadows of the night.

And a promise: _I will always be your friend._

* * *

A continuation:

White spots, sparkling, illuminating the evening sky. Two boys, side by side, watching. Silent. Smiling. Dreaming of colourful worlds, far, far away.

_Maybe the sky is purple on that one._

_Maybe we will go to that one one day. I will take you there._

Until they fall asleep under the eye of the night, excitement tingling on their skin, their dreams tasting of lollipops and chocolate.

* * *

An consolidation:

A silent scream, resounding through the world, and still unheard by everyone save him. Thin, short arms around his shoulders, smothering the trembling as Itachi drowns him in his tears. _Don't look, don't look, don't be scared, I am here._

Another promise: _I will take care of you._

Shisui has always been a dreamer, and it is easy to teach Itachi how to imagine. How to pretend. In front of their eyes, rubble turns into marmoreal castles. Dust and ashes turn into fairy dust. Shredded limbs into gnarled branches. Bloodstains into the petals of corn poppies.

The world is built the way they want it to be. The pale moon emerges, covered in blood – and they make it their sun.

* * *

A fear:

A hospital room. Clear. Clean. Aseptic. Shisui's skin as white as the blankets. Salty moisture running down Itachi's cheeks. Burning. Stinging.

In his mind, the covers turn to white sand, and his tears are the sea, leaking at Shisui's feet. The humming and beeping of the instruments morph into the crashing of the waves and the singing of the seagulls.

Another careless promise: _I will not let you die._

Death glances into the room, and shuffles away again. It is not time yet.

* * *

A twist:

A fist in a pale face. A blue flower blossoming around his eye. Something has changed, and yet, nothing has. Everything is fine after brawling in the mud.

They pretend the dirt on their clothes doesn't reach down to their souls. They pretend the Nakano can wash it all off.

Another foolish, foolish promise: _I will never hurt you again._

* * *

An intensification:

Greedy, needy hands, sloppily pulling at their clothes, fumbling as they stumble into the cover of the bushes. Again, laughter (not so childish anymore) filling the air, along with other sounds. The sky erupts in a thousand colours, blue, green, red, white, gold, and maybe they can reach the castles way up high, floating in the air just above the clouds.

Warm breath over cold skin, lips tasting of smiles and desire, lingering on their skin, their bones, their souls.

Words, whispered, taken away by the wind: _I love you._

And: _I will never leave you._

* * *

A destruction:

A sharp pain shooting through his body as he gasps for air. Cold water filling his lungs. The strength bleeding out of him while hands – so much bigger now than when they first met – push him under. Silent sobs above him, unshed tears poisoning Itachi's system.

There is no colour in that one.

Neither can pretend anymore.

Reality, after all, is always faster. And more patient. It always wins, and kills childhood.

* * *

A spark of hope:

Footsteps in the snow, glistening in the sunlight, under a luminous sky. The wind carries Shisui's name, speaks it slowly, languidly, everywhere he goes, like a treasure. A quantum of solace. It carries his laughter, his breath, his smile.

There are only two pairs of footsteps, his and Kisame's, but Itachi knows he is not alone.

When night falls, and the crackling flames of the campfire sing of Shisui, he whispers one last promise:

_I will be with you soon._


End file.
